When the Nightmares are Real
by Sphynx1
Summary: Quatre has a nighmare, what's gone wrong? The teaser/prologue thingy of a longer fic
1. Prologue

Title: When the Nightmares are Real (teaser/prologue)  
  
Author: Sphynx  
  
Rating: PG now, probably worse later  
  
Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about?  
  
Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares  
  
make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Quatre sat huddled in a little ball shuddering. He had woken  
  
up screaming again, the nightmares he had fought since he was young  
  
winning another battle as he slept. Tears were streaming down his  
  
face as he tried to disappear into the corner where his bed was  
  
placed. He peered out of his nest of blankets, staring at the door  
  
across the room expecting the armed soldiers of all his worst  
  
nightmares to come bursting through at any moment.  
  
Quatre was still seeing the after-images if his dream when Trowa  
  
slipped quietly into the room. He had heard the scream that tore  
  
from Quatre's throat and knew that Quatre needed him. He quietly put  
  
water to boil for tea, letting Quatre take time to realize that he  
  
was there, knowing better than to startle him. The chamomile blend  
  
was steeping when Quatre stopped shuddering and blinked, coming back  
  
to his room and out of his terrifying dream.  
  
"Trowa?" he whispered hopefully.  
  
"Yes kitten," was the kind soft reply as Trowa pressed the cup of tea  
  
into Quatre's hands and sat down on the bed beside him.  
  
"Thank you." 


	2. Sunrise

Title: When the Nightmares are Real (Part 1) Author: Sphynx Rating: PG now, probably worse later Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about? Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Part 1: Sunrise  
  
The next day the sun rose quietly to filter through the thick glass panes on the window to find two upright figures in Quatre's bed. Trowa was awake, keeping his silent vigil on the sleeping form he held ever so carefully, but awkwardly at the same time. He felt honored to be entrusted with the care of such an angel, his best friend. He had known there was something horrible in Quatre's past, but before Trowa had never gotten Quatre to tell him why he had such horrible nightmares. But the night before had been different. As they sat, Quatre drinking his tea, still shaking from time to time, Trowa watchful and careful.  
  
It wasn't the first time he had heard the Quatre's desperate screams as he awoke from a nightmare. When they had first come to school, they had lived on the same hall. Quatre had managed to scare away his roommate in the first couple of weeks after a couple of really bad nightmares that had woken him screaming and leaving him sleepless and shaken. It was then that Trowa had realized that Quatre needed someone. He didn't know what to do except go to see if the young boy was all right. Soon his visits after he heard Quatre's screams had become routine. He had learned that chamomile soothed Quatre's worst terrors into something manageable. It had fallen into a routine. Trowa would slip in as quietly as he could, make tea, and sit with Quatre until morning.  
  
Before Trowa could never get Quatre to tell him what the nightmares were about. Until the night before when he had called him kitten it had always been he and Quatre sitting up until the sun rose and a new day began, silent. Quatre's nickname had always been Cat. It was too easy with him looking like a scared kitten just to let the name slip. Quatre had cried that night, as he told the story of his childhood. His father's soldiers were what haunted him. After seeing his sisters unjustly persecuted for having "western" ideas and his father blame him for his mother's death, the men in his father's honor guard had become terrifying nightmares to the young boy. All this had come out as Trowa quietly listened to every word.  
  
And now they sat on the bed, Quatre asleep on Trowa's shoulder and Trowa awake and ever watchful. It was the first time Quatre had been able to fall asleep after one of his nightmares. 


	3. Conversations

Title: When the Nightmares are Real (Part 2) Author: Sphynx Rating: PG now, probably worse later Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about? Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Part 2:  
  
As people pushed through the relatively narrow hallways getting to class, Trowa paused to say hello to a teacher he had had the year before. There was a teacher like her in every school. Someone that people trusted and could go to when things went weird.  
  
"Mrs. L.B.[1]?" he paused, waiting for her to finish talking to a student. It was his free period, and hers too. "Can we talk?"  
  
"Yes, or course. Are you ok?" The teacher motioned for Trowa to take a seat across from her desk. Once he was seated she motioned for him to talk, giving him his time.  
  
"I am. But Quatre isn't. He's been having nightmares since he got here last year. But it's not just that. He finally told me what he always dreams of last night." Trowa shifted nervously in the seat, betraying only slightly the uneasiness that ate up his mind.  
  
"I don't know what to do. He's so hurt, and I can't do anything to ease his pain but just sit there and hold him."  
  
Mrs. L.B. looked at Trowa, surprised. He hardly ever showed this much emotion, being naturally very reserved and introspective. She knew that he experienced strong emotions, but few others did. Now there was a look of anguish in his eyes that spoke volumes about what he cared for the blonde boy he was so worried about. It worried her.  
  
It was a moment before she replied. "Trowa, you have to be there for him. That's all you can do right now. Oh, and tell him that you care. That will mean the world to him."  
  
"But what if he's not." Trowa trailed off. It was his worst fear, that he would care for someone and they wouldn't care for him in the same way, or even be reviled by his feelings.  
  
"Does it really matter? You will still care for him, that won't change. And I have a feeling he might just be what you are looking for."  
  
----------------------- [1] My eighth grade English teacher. Now she teaches high school English where my best friend goes to school. This woman is amazing. She really will just sit there and listen no matter what. You wouldn't believe how many times I skipped gym to talk to her. 


	4. Comfort

Title: When the Nightmares are Real (part 3) Author: Sphynx Rating: PG now, probably worse later Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about? Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Part 3  
  
It had been two days since his conversation with Mrs. L.B. and Trowa hadn't been woken up by Quatre's screams since then. Quatre seemed nervous and reserved around him. Maybe Quatre wasn't sure he should have told Trowa the things that gave him nightmares. Maybe he thought that Trowa would push him away. But Trowa didn't care, didn't look down on Quatre at all. There was no pity in his gaze, just a sympathy and an understanding that showed they were equals. Quatre didn't need pity, just a friend to lean on.  
  
That night Quatre had a nightmare. One of the ones where very little could wake him up and nothing could soothe him. Trowa heard him scream the first time, a painful choking scream that made his skin crawl. He was at Quatre's door in a flash, slipping in quietly and saw that Quatre was thrashing, still asleep and unable to wake up. It was either throw water on Quatre to wake him up or hold him until the nightmare was over. Trowa chose to hold him, knowing that Quatre could easily take it the wrong way and not speak to him out of disdain.  
  
But Trowa knew he wouldn't. As he held Quatre tightly, whispering soft meaningless words of comfort and assurance, he knew that Quatre couldn't ever feel disdain. It was simply not in Quatre's nature, the boy was kind to everyone who wasn't blatantly cruel. And so he held Quatre as the boy calmed down, and slipped into a more peaceful sleep.  
  
When he was sure Quatre was sleeping peacefully again, Trowa tried to slide out of the bed without waking Quatre. But Quatre wound his hands into Trowa's shirt and refused to let go. He couldn't get up without waking the boy, so Trowa just settled, hoping that Quatre wouldn't wake up in the morning and be frightened. It was a long time before Trowa fell asleep. 


	5. Morning

Title: When the Nightmares are Real (part 4) Author: Sphynx Rating: PG now, probably worse later Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about? Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Part 4  
  
Quatre woke that morning exhausted. He always was after one of his nightmares when he couldn't wake up. He remembered being terrified, alone in the dark. But then everything got hazy. He almost thought that someone had held him and told him that everything was going to be all right.  
  
He let go of the fabric he was gripping for dear life with a yelp. It wasn't his blanket or sheet. Slowly he opened his eyes, and with a yelp closed them again. Trowa was lying in his bed, and that was his shirt he had been gripping. He once again cracked his eyes open, hoping that this wasn't a dream. Trowa was in his bed. And he was awake.  
  
Trowa had woken up when he had heard the first yelp, and for a moment had no earthly idea where he was. Then he realized he was holding something and what had happened the night before came back to him suddenly. He realized that Quatre was awake and knew he was there when he heard the second yelp. He was in trouble.  
  
He quickly tried to slide out of bed, but suddenly he found himself in a death grip from behind as he tried to stand up. He turned around slowly, facing a very confused Quatre.  
  
"Why are you here?" Quatre sounded almost wistful as if he didn't want it to be a dream.  
  
"You had a nightmare, you wouldn't wake up."  
  
"The last time I had that bad a nightmare I woke up very wet looking at you sheepishly holding a pitcher of water." His voice laughed as Trowa looked down, remembering the impressive lecture he had gotten. "But even after that lecture I gave you I never expected you to try a new method of helping me. I never thanked you for waking me up that time."  
  
"Well, it wouldn't do you any good to get wet and cold," Trowa replied quietly. "I'll go."  
  
"No, don't, please." There was a desperation in Quatre's voice that made Trowa look into his eyes. And what he saw there frightened him. "I don't want to be alone."  
  
"I don't want to either." 


	6. Confidentiality

Title: When the Nightmares are Real Author: Sphynx Rating: PG now, probably worse later Pairings: 3x4.Isn't it obvious? What do I always write about? Author's notes: Hmm, I really should stop with the whole nightmares make good stories. You'll learn why later *grins evilly*  
  
Part 5  
  
"I think I love him."  
  
"I know you do. After what you've told me and how you sounded talking about him it's pretty obvious. Have you told him?"  
  
"Not really. I don't want to lose him as a friend. He means too much to me."  
  
Mrs. L.B. smiled at this. The subject of their conversation had expressed the same fears to her only a few days earlier. She knew from Quatre's story that Trowa hadn't said anything about how much he cared, but had made it pretty damn obvious to the young boy.  
  
"He cares about you Quatre, he really cares or he wouldn't take care of you at night when you have nightmares. He'd leave you to suffer if he cared any less, he wouldn't be able to see you like that."  
  
"He's talked to you hasn't he? 'Cause I couldn't tell you how bad they are."  
  
"Yes he's come and talked to me." The teacher smirked as an eager expression fleeted across the boy's face. "And no, I'm not telling you what he said or what he talked about. That's between him and me. But don't think he doesn't care about you. I could have told you that he does just from what you've told me."  
  
"Really? But what if he's not.?" Quatre let the question drop as he saw the now visible smirk on Mrs. L.B.'s face. His eyes flew open and he realized that it wouldn't be such a bad idea to go and talk to Trowa. No matter how touchy the subject was.  
  
"But what if he is? You should try asking yourself that question. You'll get a far better answer that way. But you should go ask him yourself. Everyone knows that teachers aren't supposed to know these things." She smiled sedately as she said this. Everyone knew the unspoken rule that teachers were to be told only so much, and she knew that she was stretching that rule already by listening to her students spout their problems, no matter what the problems were. But she didn't care.  
  
Quatre smiled as she mentioned the unspoken rule. He knew that she didn't care about how students loved, only that they were happy. "I guess then that even if you did know you wouldn't tell me, right? It would make this a lot easier."  
  
"That would be breaking the whole confidentiality thing that makes me so popular, though. I don't disclose anything you guys tell me as long as nobody is in danger. Not to anyone, even those directly involved." Quatre smiled, knowing that she would never tell anyone. Even if it meant her job, anything that a student told her was completely confidential, with few exceptions. "Thank you, I think it's time Trowa and I have a conversation. If you'll excuse me, I'll see you in class tomorrow, I guess."  
  
"Bye Quatre, go have your talk with Trowa. You both need it." With a wave Quatre was gone, and as Mrs. L.B. watched, several thoughts ran through her head concerning those two.  
  
"I do hope that they find their happiness." She sighed and went back to grading the tests she had been working on before Quatre's tentative knock on the door. 


	7. Haunted

Notes: And finally, we get some clue of those pesky nightmares. I mean NO offense to those who practice Islam, but this kind of abuse of power does exist. And I am sure that some people think Quatre's father is not a bad person. I don't have a concrete opinion either way. This particular bastardization works for my fic, sometimes it doesn't. So sue me.  
  
Part 6  
  
Trowa was furious. Quatre's father had come to visit his son that afternoon. It had been horrible, and now Quatre lay spent from crying on Trowa's bed as Trowa paced the room.  
  
"Mon dieu, comment pourrait-il faire ceci à lui? Le salud."[1] Trowa slipped into his native French, a language he rarely used at school. Mr. Winner had barged into the school during classes and demanded to see his son. It seemed he had heard false rumors about how his son was behaving. That's what an acquaintance that was in the class when it happened had told Trowa. Trowa had heard the same thing from Quatre's mostly incoherent sobs that afternoon. That and it seemed that Quatre's father had found out Quatre knew where Iria was.  
  
Iria was Quatre's favorite sister, who had managed to escape her father's household when Quatre was still young. She was now living somewhere in the same state as the school. Quatre wouldn't even tell Trowa where. He was too afraid his father might find her and bring her back. Quatre had been in touch with her since he had arrived at school and found a letter waiting for him from her.  
  
Trowa knew what would happen to Iria if her father found her. Quatre had told him what had happened to their mother when she ran, and was caught. It was what tormented his dreams many nights. What he saw his father do to his mother. Iria knew also what would happen, and if she was caught she had no power to stop her father. In their country no person would be able to stand against her father's complete power. In his hands she would surely suffer, even die for her disobedience.  
  
Quatre whimpered slightly. Trowa immediately stopped pacing and went hurriedly to his side. He softly smoothed back Quatre's bangs. "Etre calme mon cher, ce sera bien,"[2] he whispered softly.  
  
"Trowa?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is he gone?"  
  
"Yes, you're safe now."  
  
"I have to call Iria, he knows where she is Trowa, he knows." There was a wild look in Quatre's eyes, he didn't want his sister hurt, and he wanted to blame himself for her danger.  
  
"Where is her number? I'll call her." Trowa wanted Quatre to rest, not work himself up emotionally again. Quatre looked surprised at Trowa's statement and looked around confused for a moment.  
  
"It's on the back of the picture on my desk," he answered slowly.  
  
"I'll be right back." Trowa rushed down the hall, and into Quatre's room. There was only one picture on the desk, one of Quatre's mother. He carefully took it out of the frame and copied the number on the back.  
  
Going back to his room he picked up the portable phone from the hall, not wanting to be where people could hear him when he called Iria. Once he was in his room again he carefully dialed the number with Quatre looking worriedly from the bed. It rang once, twice, and then a young woman's voice answered, firm and kind.  
  
"Iria Winner? This is Trowa Barton, I'm one of your brother's friends from school." He paused for a second, listening. "He's fine, in fact he's sitting right here." Trowa put his hand over the mouthpiece, turning to Quatre, "Do you want to talk to her?"  
  
Quatre nodded, trying to calm the expressions of fear and guilt flickering across his face. "Yes." Trowa handed him the phone, sitting next to him on the bed. "Iria, father knows where you are. I don't know how he found out, he just came here today and told me he knew where to find you. Iria, I'm so sorry. He must have found out from something of mine." Quatre was crying as he listened to his sister's response, the guilt written clearly on his face. He handed the phone back to Trowa after Iria stopped talking.  
  
"I'll take care of him, I promise. Please be careful." With that last statement Trowa hung up the phone.  
  
"It's my fault, Trowa, Father must have found something of mine. No one else could know where she is."  
  
"Hush little one, she'll be ok."  
  
----------------------- [1] "My god, how could he do this to him? The bastard." [2] "Hush my dear, it will be alright." 


	8. Panic

Author's Notes: This one was hard, I am so sorry it took me so long. There was so much that I had to figure out here, this story has taken on quite a personality of it's own.  
  
Part 7  
  
Quatre sat in class, trying to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. It was all he could do though, to keep from bolting from the class entirely. His nerves were so wound tight that he couldn't sit still; he kept whipping his head around every time there was a new noise. Trowa looked at him worriedly from across the room. He was only half listening to what the teacher was saying when he heard him call on Quatre. Quatre's head shot up in surprise. He hadn't any earthly idea what the teacher had asked and sat there stupidly for a moment with his mouth gaping before the teacher repeated the question.  
  
"I asked if you had anything to add about the patriarch's role in Islamic families, Mr. Winner."  
  
"Ummm.No, I can't," Quatre stammered in reply before he fled the room. It was too much. The teacher had been discussing family values in different societies, and he just couldn't take the ordeal of going through his family's particular structure.  
  
The teacher went quietly after him, instructing the class to stay put and read the assignment for that night. He found Quatre standing silently in the hall, trying not to panic. It wasn't often that Quatre lost his control and just couldn't deal with something, but obviously he had had a hard past couple of days. As the teacher looked slowly at Quatre, he saw deep dark circles under his eyes and the trembling of his hands as he silently fought to breathe normally.  
  
"Go to your room and take a break Quatre, you need it. I'll ask Trowa to give you the notes later." He saw Quatre start to protest, as if he didn't want to seem weak. "No, go, if you need time, then you need time. It won't help you to stay."  
  
Quatre shot a grateful look at his teacher, and not trusting his voice to express his gratitude, left without another word.  
  
The teacher went back into class as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and soon the students were discussing different family structures and their affects on different populations. Trowa stayed quiet, not knowing if Quatre was ok, but unwilling to make a fuss over what had happened. When the class was over he gathered his stuff slowly and walked toward the door. Before he got there, the teacher called him over to his desk.  
  
"Trowa, I want you to go give Quatre your notes, and see if he is ok. I know you two are friends, and a friend is what he needs right now." Trowa looked at his teacher in confusion. Even here, where the teachers knew the students well, this was an unexpected statement. It wasn't everyday that a teacher took such a care about a student's emotional well being.  
  
"Oh, and go give this to the dean, it should get you excused from your afternoon classes," he added as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and signed it. Trowa read it, surprised at the strange behavior. It was a short note, giving no specific details, but yet enough to suggest that Trowa and Quatre were unfit to go to their afternoon classes.  
  
Trowa Barton and Quatre Winner were not feeling well, and I had to excuse them from my class. It might be well to excuse them for the afternoon.  
  
Trowa took the note to the dean on his way to see Quatre. He just nodded and told him to take the afternoon off, and tell Quatre to do the same. Trowa rushed up to Quatre's room, wanting to make sure he was all right.  
  
He found Quatre trying to read his hands still shaking and his eyes still panicked, not really looking at the pages he read automatically. "Are you all right? You're shaking."  
  
"I'm fine, I just realized that my family isn't typical. I mean, what kind of father treats his children like mine does his? How can I have put up with it for so long? How can I have just accepted things the way they are?" Quatre's voice held a note of panic as he asked his questions, always finding the fault in his own behavior.  
  
"Quatre, it's how you grew up? How were you supposed to judge that? Even the most dysfunctional family will think that their family is normal. And it is normal, to them. It is not in any way your fault."  
  
"But.Iria.She's in danger, and it's my fault." He looked so helpless, so lost.  
  
"It's not your fault. It's not. Little one.Kitten, please." Trowa's desperation to see Quatre be all right made his voice sound strained and forced. The emotion and caring behind his words were obvious, even to Quatre who looked at his face, really looked, and saw something that scared him and gave him hope at the same time.  
  
"Thank you Trowa. I don't deserve someone like you."  
  
"No, Quatre, you have it all wrong. Please, you're worth so much more than I." 


	9. Relief

"When the Nightmares Are Real" 

Author's notes: Thanks Manon…I am forever in your debt…or will be when (if) this thing is (ever) done.

Part 8

The phone rang, it's sharp sound jarring Quatre and Trowa out of their own world of pain and comfort. They sat there looking at each other stupidly before Trowa got up to go answer the phone. Quatre sat on his bed, still looking pale and shaky waiting for Trowa to take a message and come back. 

When Trowa came back carrying the phone, Quatre looked up worried. There was a serious look on Trowa's face, almost as if he were reluctant to give the phone to Quatre.

"It's Iria." Quatre's eyes flew wide in fear, not knowing what to expect. He reached out for the phone and Trowa gave it to him and then stood awkwardly waiting for him to find out what was going on.

"Iria? Are you ok?" He listened carefully to what his sister said. "She's ok," he mouthed to Trowa at one point before going back to listening intently. 

"I'm so sorry Iria, this should never have happened, it's all my fault," Quatre said, trying once more to take the blame upon himself. From the shocked expression on his face as Iria replied, Trowa guessed that Iria's reply had something to do with a certain blonde's chronic guilt complex. "Here, she wants to talk to you, but give me that back when you're done."

Trowa cocked his head, listening to Iria. "Yes, I'll make sure he's ok, not I won't let him think that this is fault," he paused for a second. "I understand." Trowa handed the phone back to Quatre. 

"I promise Iria. I love you." Quatre hung the phone up and put his head in his hands, drained.

"She's going to be all right. It's all going to be all right." Quatre looked lost, helpless, and hopeful, finally able to know that his sister was going to be safe. His nightmares would never go away, but now he could stop living in fear. For awhile.

"Je pourrais le tuer pour cela. Quatre ne merite pas cette souffrance,"(1) Trowa muttered under his breath. 

"Trowa? What was that?" Having caught his name in the phrase, Quatre wanted to know why Trowa was muttering in French.

"Nothing, kitten. You need to get some rest, you look worn out." Quatre looked exhausted now that everything was over. Trowa was worried about Quatre; he hadn't looked that tired for the whole ordeal with Iria and their father. 

"I'm fine. What did you say? I did catch part of it, you know," Quatre said stubbornly.

"That you don't deserve this. Is that all? You need rest," Trowa replied just as stubbornly.

"It'll do. If you want me to rest, nag, then let me rest." Quatre was thrilled that Trowa cared that much about him, and he allowed a true smile to grace his features for the first time since his father had come to see him.

"Fine, mule, get your rest," Trowa said impishly, smiling, delighted to see Quatre smile again.

"Thank you Trowa. Having you here has meant a lot to me. You didn't have to be so kind."

"Yes I did, I care about you Quatre," Trowa said. M_ore than you'll ever guess,_ he added silently before leaving.

(1)"I could kill him for this. Quatre doesn't deserve this pain."


	10. Hope

"When the Nightmares are Real" (Part 9 and Epilogue)

Notes: Wow, guys, it's finally DONE. And it's a HAPPY ending. Hope you like it…I was thinking of my school when I wrote it…Only, sadly, I will not walk down those steps to Pomp and Circumstance…No, we don't use that here. But I don't care. And neither do Quat or Tro, really, I bet. 

Part 9

Quatre sat reading happily in the bright sunlight on the front lawn of the school. Trowa was sitting a few feet away, trying to do his homework. Earlier that day Quatre had gotten another call from Iria. She couldn't tell him where she was; she didn't want to risk their father finding out. But she was safe, and that was what Quatre cared about. And if Quatre was happy, Trowa had nothing to worry about. Other than school, which he was trying to keep on top of. Not an easy task when Quatre sat there smiling softly, absorbed in his book, looking so absolutely wonderful.

"What are you thinking about Trowa?" Quatre's voice brought Trowa out of silent reverie, without completely shattering the moment.

"Hmm…Nothing, school, you. It's good to see you happy." Trowa smiled slightly and went back to scribbling his homework down on paper. 

Quatre looked at him for a moment and went back to staring at the page he was supposed to be on in the book he was reading. He kept looking over at Trowa, always looking back at his page when Trowa looked up at him. Then Trowa caught his eye, and smiled. Quatre could feel the blush tingeing his cheeks red as Trowa looked at him.

"What are you thinking about Quatre?" Trowa asked, throwing the question back at Quatre playfully.

"I…I…Trowa, I have something to tell you," Quatre said quietly. Trowa's eyes expressed care and concern. He watched as Quatre cast about in his mind for the right words, not wanting to say anything, knowing Quatre would tell him when he was ready. "Trowa, having you here these past few weeks has meant so much to me. I don't know how to say this, but I care about you, and you've just been so kind…." Quatre let is words trail off, hanging his head, afraid to look in Trowa's eyes.

"Quatre? You care about me?" Trowa took Quatre's chin in his hand and slowly forced Quatre to look at him. His eyes held caring, hope, longing, happiness, all churning together, the emotions obvious. Quatre let out a soft exclamation as he saw the depth of emotion those eyes held, and smiled.

"Yes, I care about you, Trowa, I don't know anyone who's made me feel so safe, so cared for." 

"Good, because I care about you, and I don't know what I would do if I lost you because of it." Trowa was smiling fully now, his expression light and happy. Quatre had never been able to see Trowa look that soft, that vulnerable. Quatre laughed with happiness, everything was all right now. He cared about Trowa and Trowa cared about him.

.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

Quatre stood nervously in front of the mirror, adjusting the tassel on his cap. It was almost time to line up, and he couldn't be late for his own graduation.

"It's fine, you look great. Now stop fidgeting and get your butt out there, or we'll be late." Quatre looked up to see Trowa standing there behind him, also in his cap and gown. 

"You think so? Let's GO! We're graduating!" Quatre let Trowa lead him out of door. They had been together since the year before when everything had come to a fearful climax. Now Quatre was happy, the nightmares hadn't gone away, but they weren't as bad as they once were. Quatre had severed ties with his father, and now was living off of his own money that he had in trust funds his father couldn't touch. And Iria was sitting out in the amphitheater waiting to see her brother receive his diploma.

They lined up with the rest of their class, and walked down the steps of the amphitheater to the familiar strains of Pomp and Circumstance. They sat through the speeches, got their diplomas, and they were done, truly done. Soon, in the fall they would be off to college in New York, leaving their pasts behind them, only bringing their memories, and each other to the bright futures that lay ahead


End file.
